


5:43

by someidiothasice



Series: Call Me (any day or night) [2]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Courfeyrac being mischievous, Enjolras has nerves of steel, M/M, Modern Era, but that goes without saying in this pairing, except when he's missing someone, still sort of one-sided, then his friends worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:10:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someidiothasice/pseuds/someidiothasice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac and Combeferre notice a problem with their friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5:43

Enjolras wasn’t fidgeting. He _wasn’t_.

“Quit it,” Courfeyrac hissed out from the side of his mouth. Valjean glanced back at him from a few rows ahead and Courfeyrac gave him a placating smile. The minute he turned his back Courfeyrac turned to Enjolras and glared at him.

Enjolras narrowed his eyes as he stared resolutely ahead. And shifted in his seat.

Courfeyrac pinched him on the thigh. Enjolras slapped his hand away.

“Will you focus? What is wrong with you?” Courfeyrac asked quietly.

“Shh,” Enjolras hushed him. “You’re going to get us in trouble.” On his other side, Combeferre leaned back and shot Courfeyrac a worried look over Enjolras’s shoulder.

They held a silent conversation that consisted of eyebrow wiggles and sardonic looks. Between them, Enjolras craned his neck and shifted uneasily again.

“Looking for someone?” Courfeyrac asked. Enjolras shot him a poisonous look and crossed his arms. Then he uncrossed them and folded his hands in his lap.

Courfeyrac watched as he twisted them together. He looked over Enjolras’s shoulder again when Combeferre nodded at him to get his attention.

‘Call him,’ Combeferre mouthed, raising his hand to his ear in the universal gesture for a phone call.

From the row behind them, Feuilly leaned forward and tapped Courfeyrac on the shoulder. When he turned around in his seat, he was greeted by the sight of Enjolras’s black iPhone. He raised an eyebrow at Feuilly, who grinned.

‘Picked his pocket,’ Feuilly mouthed. Courfeyrac snorted. Combeferre, watching along with him, rolled his eyes at the exchange.

Valjean turned in his seat again, as though sensing that his team was up to no good.

Courfeyrac slipped the phone in his pocket as he got up from his seat, crouching low as to not draw attention from the crowd as he slunk over to their teacher.

“Sir,” he began in hushed tones, “would it be terrible if I used the lavatory? It's urgent.”

Valjean stared at him for a moment. When Courfeyrac refused to budge their teacher sighed and gestured with a hand.

“Make it quick, son.”

“Thank you, sir.”

On his way down the main aisle he caught Combeferre’s eye and nodded. Once he was through the double doors he pulled the phone from his pocket and scrolled through the contacts.

_R_

“Ahh, there we are,” Courfeyrac said, hitting the call button. It took a moment for the call to connect, but when he heard the song playing in his ear he couldn’t help but shake his head in fond exasperation. It only took a few bars before the call was picked up.

“Missing me already?” Grantaire’s voice came through, bright and cheery, over a loud din. “You do understand I can’t be at every match, yes? What _would_ the people think.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Courfeyrac said, dryly. “It’s just me.”

“Ahh, Courfeyrac!” Grantaire’s voice lost none of its joviality, yet Courfeyrac could hear his disappointment. “Is there a reason you’re calling from Enjolras’ phone?” There was a beat, and the background noise grew quieter. “Is everything okay?”

“Not really.” Courfeyrac immediately regretted his choice of words when Grantaire sucked in a breath.

“What’s going on? Is he alright? Was there an accident?” Grantaire’s voice rose as he got more and more anxious. “I knew I should’ve blown off this stupid game--"

“Grantaire,” he tried to interrupt, but Grantaire just spoke over him.

“--but coach was adamant. Him and his stupid championship, like we need to win every damned trophy in the region--”

“Grantaire!” he tried again, to no avail.

“--and if something happened and I wasn’t there, so help me, I’ll never forgive--”

“ _Grantaire!_ ”

“Yes?”

“He’s fine,” Courfeyrac said quickly.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” A loud burst of laughter, followed by some good-natured ribbing, came through the line and for a moment Courfeyrac felt bad for the guy. “Letting me go on like that. What’s the matter with you?”

“Enjolras misses you,” he said. There was a long pause.

“Pardon? He... told you this?”

“Well, he hasn’t exactly said as much, but he’s been... antsy.”

“Antsy.”

“What do you expect? We’ve a match, and you’ve been to every one since term started. I think it’s got him unsettled.”

There was another long pause, through which Courfeyrac heard more of the football team going on at Grantaire’s expense. Yes, that was definitely Bahorel in the background laughing heartily.

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” Grantaire said, testy. Courfeyrac pulled Enjolras’s phone back and stared at the screen in confusion. Grantaire’s smiling face holding up a bottle of wine greeted him.

“I don’t know! What do you usually say to him to calm him down before a meet?”

“Nothing! I just show up. Something I can’t exactly do at the moment, being hours away and all.”

“Well, maybe you could send him a text?”

“A text. You want me to text Enjolras right before a match.”

“Yes.”

“To the phone you’re currently holding?”

Courfeyrac grimaced. “I’ll get it back to him.”

“Courfeyrac, my friend, you do realize that while I do so love yanking his metaphorical pigtails we aren’t, in fact, involved in a torrid affair.”

“Just send him a damn text, will you? It might help calm him down.”

“And say what?”

“I don’t know! Wish him luck. Wish him well. Wish that he would trip on his way to the podium and fall on his face!”

“Yes,” Grantaire drawled out, amused, “because that is exactly the sort of thing he’d like to hear.”

“I’ve got to get back. Wait a few minutes, at least, and think of something that might calm his nerves.”

“That’s rubbish. Enjolras is never nervous.”

“Just think of something.”

“This is ridiculous. Like he really wants to hear from me right now,” Grantaire shot off before he hung up. Courfeyrac glared down at the phone in his hand and then wiped the call from the history before tucking it away in his pocket. He straightened out his jacket and re-entered the auditorium, nodding at Valjean as he made his way back to his spot.

Once he was seated he pulled the phone from his pocket and nudged Enjolras with his elbow.

“You dropped this,” he whispered, holding it out. Enjolras looked as though he was about to shush him again, before he patted his pocket and snatched the phone back hurriedly when he realized it was missing. Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

“Quiet,” Enjolras responded as he tucked his phone away, “we’re about to be on.”

Courfeyrac leaned back and caught Combeferre’s eye. Combeferre raised an eyebrow in question and Courfeyrac shrugged and shook his head. Between them, Enjolras crossed his legs and laid his hands over his knee. Then he uncrossed them.

A quiet buzz from Enjolras’s pocket caught his attention. Courfeyrac grinned ahead and ignored the suspicious look Enjolras shot him as his friend pulled his phone back out and glanced down at it.

Courfeyrac manfully resisted looking down as well, though when Enjolras let out a small huff and forcefully placed the phone face down in his lap he almost wished he had.

The phone buzzed again in his hand and Courfeyrac bit his lip. He kept his eyes forward and definitely did _not_ smirk when Enjolras read the text and sighed heavily.

He could sense Feuilly lean forward behind him and turned his head enough to send his friend a reassuring nod.

Enjolras typed out something quickly and slipped the phone under one thigh. It only took moments for it to buzz again, and this time Courfeyrac looked down...

...to see a picture message of the entire football team mugging for the camera around a message written on what looked to be Coach Javert’s portable dry erase board.

**GOOD LUCK, NERDS!**

Courfeyrac snickered quietly as Enjolras stared, motionless, down at the display. Enjolras whipped his head up to glare at him, and Courfeyrac immediately turned his gaze to the podium, assuming an expression of innocence.

Enjolras angrily typed out a response and sent it off before he turned his phone off and tucked it back into his pocket. Then he settled back in his seat to wait his turn.

Two hours later, on the bus headed back to the school, Courfeyrac and Combeferre watched from the back row as Enjolras triumphantly held up the winning trophy amidst jovial cheers and jubilant shouts.

“Well done,” Combeferre said quietly, watching as Joly patted Enjolras on the shoulder. “I hadn’t seen him that nervous since primary.”

“I take no credit,” Courfeyrac replied, “it was your idea to involve grand R. Whom we must thank properly when we return. In fact...”

Courfeyrac stared up at the front of the bus, where Enjolras was holding court between Feuilly and Prouvaire, a massive smile on his face and their trophy cradled under one arm. He pulled his own phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture. Combeferre looked down at it over his shoulder.

It was slightly out of focus, and he’d accidentally cut off a bit of Enjolras’s head at the top, but his friends smile was still resplendent.

“It’ll do.”

"You should not encourage him," Combeferre said quietly. Courfeyrac waved him off and sent the picture to the number he’d memorized earlier, a short message attached.

“Hey, you two.”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre looked up to see Enjolras had moved to the back of the bus, fresh-faced with victory and smiling happily.

“Prouvaire’s parents are off to Rouen visiting relatives for the weekend, so we’re all headed there after we get back. Can we count you in?”

“Of course,” Combeferre replied with a smile. Courfeyrac stood and clapped a hand on Enjolras’s back heartily.

“Wouldn’t miss it! I’ll be there with bells on!”

For a moment Enjolras’s eyes unfocused and his smile softened, as though he was reminiscing fondly about something, then he shook his head.

“Excellent. My parents wouldn’t let me have the car, so I don’t suppose I could ride with one of you?”

Combeferre rolled his eyes but agreed readily, just as Courfeyrac’s phone went off in his hand. He looked down at the message and, grinning, tucked his phone back in his pocket.

_No, thank you._

**Author's Note:**

> I did say I was going to continue this, and I do have more on its way. Be patient with me.
> 
> All the titles are now the times the phone calls take place.


End file.
